Ruth, p.18
Ruth, page 18
SOPHIE by Patricia PACJAC Carroll book ten
CADI by Linda Carroll-Bradd book eleven
And now, please enjoy a sneak peek of Caryl’s next release in July, SKULLDUGGERY In The Sulphur River Bottoms!
Sneal Peek SKULLDUGGERY
Chapter One
Autumn, 1866
Dallas, Texas
Morgan added another shirt to the growing stack on the bed, shook his head at his wife, then sought a way to right the wrong he’d done to himself. “Let’s wire Henry. He’ll understand, and May doesn’t need me to help her write.”
Charity spun, flinging out her unpinned hair. Her tresses came to rest on her shoulders half a heartbeat after she stopped. He so loved her blonde curls, and her green eyes, and her faces—she had on her determined one—and her full shape. Truth be known, he loved everything about the woman.
“Morgan Chesterfield Lowell. What are you thinking? You agreed, and that’s that. Now come on and stop trying to finagle your way out of this trip. We’re going.”
Her tone tickled him, but he knew better than to show it. His sweetheart hated being laughed at and determined could turn to anger as quick as a woodpecker’s strike.
“Oh, using my full name makes it a done deal. I’m telling you the Buckmeyers will understand. It isn’t a good time. I’ve got so much to do here, and besides, I don’t think two weeks is going to be long enough. The guy’s been dead for years. How am I supposed to figure out who he is? Much less who killed him?”
“You need the break.” She held out a dress, examined it, then put it back in the armoire. “You don’t have to. It’s fiction; make something up.” She came out with a different frock to ponder. “You’re such an old hermit.”
“I like to sleep in my own bed on my own pillow.”
“I’ll get a separate carpet bag to put your pillow in and we can take it with us.”
“If we’re going to do this, I don’t want to make the story up, I want to uncover the story. Find out what happened—if it’s possible.”
Why was he even engaging her? He ought to put his foot down and tell her they were not going, but she was the mother of his children and the love of his life, and he absolutely hated it with a passion when the lady got mad at him.
Never mind she was still the most desirable female in all of Texas, if not the country . . . the world.
“We don’t have to go.”
“Stop saying that! You know good and well how much I’ve been looking forward to this! I want to go, and you agreed. Don’t you remember asking at dinner whose publisher would be given the novel?”
“Of course, I remember. We can still change our minds though. Henry will understand.”
“No, Morgan.” She looked past him to the bed. “Is that all you’re taking?”
He filled his lungs, exhaled, then shook his head. “You know I hate writing a book.”
“But you’re so good at it, and to have Lowell on the same spine with Meriwether will be something special. And fun. I don’t believe you hate writing, but even if you do, I know how much you love to have written.”
“Why don’t you write my part? Henry and I can go hunting or whatever. Maybe help Levi get his crops in and the fields laid by. I’d rather plow all day then put ink to paper.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But that isn’t what you agreed to.”
Strolling over to her, he looked into her eyes, and held her shoulders. She stared right back with such passion—daring him to speak first. One of the things he loved about her was her stubbornness. He bent a bit, brought his lips within inches of hers, holding her eyes the whole while.
She covered his hands with hers and patted them like comforting a child. “Morgan, there’s no telling how many folks out there will read Double Trouble At The Lowell House about the twins, and want more. It isn’t as if you have to write the whole book. May will do her part; I’ll edit the whole thing. Henry and I will be helping with the research, too.”
“There’s no telling how long that skull has been there, Charity. You know it’s going to be next to impossible to ascertain who it belonged to, much less why there was an axe buried in it.”
“Pshaw. First place I’ll go is to the county courthouse and look at their deed records.”
“The victim may or may not have owned the place, dear.”
“True, but it’ll be a start. I’m fairly certain I’ll be able to locate family members of owners. Maybe they’ll have a few stories to tell.”
“Oh yes, Mis’ess Lowell. My father killed that man.” He raised his eyebrows. “We could postpone it. Go when I’m not so busy.”
“You’re always busy.” She got down another hat box. “And I’ll have you know, Mister Smarty Britches, that I will be on a first name basis with the family members. Besides, if we postpone it then we’ll never go.”
“Sure we will.”
Nose to nose, she smiled. “Just trust me, my handsome sweetheart. You’re going to be so glad you went once the book is written and the trip is all over. You know how much you’ll enjoy being home again. Being gone for a while makes being back all the sweeter.”
That was right. His first novel earned him a respectable advance, and who knew what royalties would come in each year? He didn’t expect anything like the hotel, or his ships or timber, but there was no telling what the twin’s story would net him over time.
“To answer your question, yes. That’s all I’m taking.”
“Do you have both of your Derringers?”
“Yes, ma’am. Have you got yours?”
“I do. Kiss me, then I’ve got to finish my packing. The stage leaves in less than an hour.”
He did as told but didn’t release her. “They’ll hold the horses. We are part owners.”
“Oh, you.” She grinned then shook her head. “It wouldn’t be right, making the paying customers wait.”
Charity loved her husband, loved him all the way round the stump, loved it that the money hadn’t changed him. A lesser man would have puffed up with pride, but Morgan knew from whence his help came and was the most Christ-like man she’d ever known. Her gratitude that God had made him to be her husband continually overflowed.
What an adventure he’d taken her on! She straightened his coat then backed up a step. “Shall we then? You know how I hate being late.”
The man looked as if he might try one more protest to get out of going, then must have thought better of it, and nodded. “Do the condemned get one last request?”
“Condemned? Oh please, Morgan.” She shook her head. “We’re going on a holiday. Stop acting as though I’m feeding you foul medicine or something.”
“Oh, that’s what you’re calling it. A holiday?” He extended his arm. “Come on, then. I told Enoch to meet us in the lobby.”
“Really? Why? I was just thinking how glad I was we’d already said our goodbyes. If Baxter and Maisie find out . . .”
“He’s the oldest, and I wanted to give him a few last instructions.”
“Well, please don’t be long, dear.”
“I won’t.”
Coming up, she’d never missed a meal or had to wear feed sack dresses, but there’d been plenty of times her parents denied themselves in favor of others. Walking through the Lowell House on her husband’s arm, she couldn’t help loving the trappings of money. She so appreciated the beauty all around her. One more thing to be grateful for.
God so blessed her in that she and Morgan never had to be concerned about filthy lucre. Money flowed like water into their hands.
Her firstborn waited near the doors. “I want you to be kind to your brother and sister while we’re gone.”
“Yes, sir. You didn’t have to tell me that; you know I will, Papa.”
“I don’t want to get any bad reports.”
Her son grinned. “You won’t. Now shouldn’t you be on your way to catch the stage?”
The boy got a whole other round of hugs and kisses, offering assurances all would be fine on the home front and encouraging them to have a good time, then her husband helped her into the hotel’s carriage. On the short ride to the depot, she blessed the Lord for Erralee who she could be confident would watch over and teach her children.
Not that Charity hadn’t been a hands-on mother and no lady of leisure. She’d overseen her boys’ education before finding the teacher and nanny, and still spent special time with Maisie and Rayne each day, schooling the girls by word and deed how to be proper young ladies with good manners and etiquette.
The little darlings still had a bit of sass at times though, a quality that the boys both loved and detested. Charity made sure Morgan’s spoiling stopped short of letting her daughter go rotten. The few switchings the girls had received had worked well, like the Good Book said—especially with her husband not succoring either or getting in her way.
The carriage rolled to a stop. Morgan waited for the dust to settle then opened the door, and offering her his hand, helped her down. When the driver put the third carpet bag in the stage’s boot, Morgan helped her aboard the stage.
“Anything else, Captain?”
“No, that’s all. I’ll wire when we leave Clarksville with our arrival time.”
“Yes, sir. Have a good trip.”
He climbed in and closed the door. The driver blew his bugle then slapped leather. Trace chains rattled, and the wheels kicked up a cloud of dust behind them. The other three passengers, two men and a lady seemed a bit miffed, but then Charity had gotten there with time to spare, so the woman had no cause. No need for any of them to act out of sorts.
No one held the stage on account of her.
Morgan introduced himself and Charity, and soon enough, the others were enthralled with him. Her husband had such an easy manner and a strength that both men and woman admired. Bless God, he held fast to his honor and never acted on the long looks or sly touches so many women offered. How many times had he told her he loved her and only her? Even after all the years together.
She put her hand on the back of her head, checking her hair, and pushed a pin farther in. It felt right.
Oh, what fun lay ahead! She still couldn’t believe she’d actually got him on the stage.
A little piece of him somewhere must have wanted to go, or he never would have given in.
May always proved a perfect host, and Charity had packed some of Quincy’s specialty breads to contribute.
Another mystery and another book!
What could be better?
The trip from Dallas to Clarksville took too long. Morgan didn’t mind the swaying, dust, or frequent stops. Being cooped up in the coach was what he hated, especially if too many folks boarded and not enough disembarked. Couldn’t blame the drivers or stage managers though. They, like him, wanted to make money.
Perhaps separate passage prices for those who rode on top of the coach would keep the undesirables outside. He’d float the idea by the General. Unless something had changed, Henry still held the majority ownership.
General Patrick Henry Buckmeyer. He did love spending time with the man.
So far, every venture he’d been invited to participate in had turned a profit—and a good one.
Finally, the two-story buildings on the town square of the Red River County’s seat of government came into view. Once the dust settled enough, he climbed down then helped Charity step to the ground.
A familiar figure strode toward him. Did any man walking God’s green earth have the swagger of Levi Baylor? No brag or bluster, but an evident cold certainty in the man’s manner enveloped him. He’d go to any length to help a friend or vanquish a foe.
Shame his sidekick had been so hardheaded and not let them have his leg. Wallace Rusk would still be alive if he’d just let them amputate. That war left many a man lamed, but not Wallace . . . too proud for his own good—and Rebecca’s, but at least she’d found love again with Marcus.
The famed Ranger neared. “How are you doing, Morgan? Uncle said you and Charity should be on today’s stage.”
“Blessed, especially now that we’ve arrived. I am not fond of travel by stagecoach.”
“Who is?” His wife beat to him their friend, hugged the man’s neck, then stepped aside for Morgan to shake his hand. “Is Rose with you?”
“No, ma’am. It’s wash day.”
The seven-mile wagon ride from Clarksville to the Buckmeyer-Baylor Ranch took less than two hours but catching up with Levi made the trip seem like only minutes. With the promise of returning for supper with his redheaded wife, Levi dropped him and Charity off at the big house.
The hotel had to be more than ten times the size of Henry and May’s home, but Morgan’s residence quarters there wasn’t half as big as the Buckmeyer mansion. Of course, he had all the guestrooms he’d ever need though.
After more catching up, what’d happened after the twin’s trial, he and Charity settled into their room then wasted no time in getting to work. He and his cohorts gathered in Henry’s office. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in it, but it had the same effect on him every time he walked into it. Manly and rich, it suited the general perfectly.
Henry at his desk, with May beside him in a straight-back chair that had been pulled over. Morgan and Charity filled the matching wingback chairs.
May started things off. “Henry has asked around, and we think the dead man might have been one of the Geiger brothers.”
“Oh, wow! You already have a name? That’ll be a great help.” Charity seemed giddy.
“Yes, ma’am.” Henry nodded. Morgan’s wife gave him an I-told-you-so expression in a glance.
“I’ve only spoken with Bridger Everman. He’s the man who had the headright before us. After I told him what we’d found, he figured it was one of the Geiger brothers. They’d give him five smoked hams and a big roll of summer sausage each year for running their hogs along his bottoms.”
“He hadn’t gone out to the cabin?”
“Didn’t know they’d built one out there. Figure we should talk to whichever Geigers we can find.”
Charity gave Morgan another of her looks. It seemed Henry had followed her plan as though in cahoots, but what other path to finding a little information could be followed? She acted like it was all her idea. He smiled at her, giving her a little nod of credit. Why not encourage her detective skills?
“Everman said they’d turn out a bunch of sows in the Sulphur River bottoms in the spring then round them all up in the fall right before butchering.” The man hiked both shoulders. “Don’t have a clue which brother—if it was even one of them—got the hatchet planted in the skull Levi and I found, or why he might have got his head split open.”
“Well, between love or money, I’m inclined to follow love as a motive. Wouldn’t you think so, Miss May?”
Morgan glanced at his wife, smiled, then leaned back. “So, where do we go from here? Have any idea where these Geigers lived?”
“Across the Sulphur, Bridger wasn’t sure exactly, but he suggested talking to Andrew Titus. He’s about fifteen miles on the other side of the river. Said he might know something since he had been running the trading post in Mount Pleasant since back in the early ’30s. He’s the man who opened the road from there to the port in Jefferson.”
“Well, that’s a place to start I suppose. You said he had been running the trading post. What’s he doing now?”
“Last I heard he sold out and retired to his farm in Chapel Hill, not far from the store.”
Charity touched his arm. He looked at her. “I told Morgan we could make up what we couldn’t figure out on the story. What do you two think?”
May stood and paced, tapping her chin. “Well, we could do that.” She stopped and faced Charity. “I suppose we’ll have to guess at some of it, but I also believe knowing as many facts as possible will make the book so much better.”
“Oh, I agree, and I’m ready to dig into researching.”
Morgan let a little chuckle escape. “Why don’t I head south come morning? See if I can find Mister Titus and what he may know of them. If we’re going to do this, I want to get it right.”
“I’ll come with you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Andrew.”
SKULLDUGGERY In The Sulphur River Bottoms debuts in July! Just a few more weeks away! Pre-order your copy now!
Dedication
My God is an awesome God and everything I do, I do to give Him glory! Thank You, Father for the Way, the Truth, and The Life! I love and trust You with all my heart and seek always to SHOW that to You through obedience!
My husband and best friend and co-everything is Ron, and every story is dedicated to him! Besides writing alongside me, he loves me unconditionally, continually putting me first! He brings me my first cup of coffee most every morning!
I also dedicate this book to the young women who keep to the old values of giving their babies the very best start at life by nursing them. Nothing man makes can be as good as what God provides. So many elect to go the formula route these days because nursing newborns can hurt (at first), be tiring, tie a mother down, and generally inconvenient.
I do understand that on rare occasions it just isn’t possible, but please let me encourage you to try your hardest and stick it out for your little one’s sake! Babies are God’s best blessings, and He never makes a mistake!
Acknowledgements
Blessed be the Master Storyteller and Creator of all mine, my Father, my King, and my God. Thank You, Lord for giving me these amazing stories and for sending Ron and I to the DFW Writers’ Workshop to learn the craft of writing creative fiction.
When I say giving ‘me,’ I mean giving Ron and me, because if it weren’t for my best friend and beloved husband, I don’t know if I’d ever write another book! After Yeshua, he is my all-in-all, my perfect writing partner! As we are one in God’s eyes, we are one in this wonderful life we share!.
CADI by Linda Carroll-Bradd book eleven
And now, please enjoy a sneak peek of Caryl’s next release in July, SKULLDUGGERY In The Sulphur River Bottoms!
Sneal Peek SKULLDUGGERY
Chapter One
Autumn, 1866
Dallas, Texas
Morgan added another shirt to the growing stack on the bed, shook his head at his wife, then sought a way to right the wrong he’d done to himself. “Let’s wire Henry. He’ll understand, and May doesn’t need me to help her write.”
Charity spun, flinging out her unpinned hair. Her tresses came to rest on her shoulders half a heartbeat after she stopped. He so loved her blonde curls, and her green eyes, and her faces—she had on her determined one—and her full shape. Truth be known, he loved everything about the woman.
“Morgan Chesterfield Lowell. What are you thinking? You agreed, and that’s that. Now come on and stop trying to finagle your way out of this trip. We’re going.”
Her tone tickled him, but he knew better than to show it. His sweetheart hated being laughed at and determined could turn to anger as quick as a woodpecker’s strike.
“Oh, using my full name makes it a done deal. I’m telling you the Buckmeyers will understand. It isn’t a good time. I’ve got so much to do here, and besides, I don’t think two weeks is going to be long enough. The guy’s been dead for years. How am I supposed to figure out who he is? Much less who killed him?”
“You need the break.” She held out a dress, examined it, then put it back in the armoire. “You don’t have to. It’s fiction; make something up.” She came out with a different frock to ponder. “You’re such an old hermit.”
“I like to sleep in my own bed on my own pillow.”
“I’ll get a separate carpet bag to put your pillow in and we can take it with us.”
“If we’re going to do this, I don’t want to make the story up, I want to uncover the story. Find out what happened—if it’s possible.”
Why was he even engaging her? He ought to put his foot down and tell her they were not going, but she was the mother of his children and the love of his life, and he absolutely hated it with a passion when the lady got mad at him.
Never mind she was still the most desirable female in all of Texas, if not the country . . . the world.
“We don’t have to go.”
“Stop saying that! You know good and well how much I’ve been looking forward to this! I want to go, and you agreed. Don’t you remember asking at dinner whose publisher would be given the novel?”
“Of course, I remember. We can still change our minds though. Henry will understand.”
“No, Morgan.” She looked past him to the bed. “Is that all you’re taking?”
He filled his lungs, exhaled, then shook his head. “You know I hate writing a book.”
“But you’re so good at it, and to have Lowell on the same spine with Meriwether will be something special. And fun. I don’t believe you hate writing, but even if you do, I know how much you love to have written.”
“Why don’t you write my part? Henry and I can go hunting or whatever. Maybe help Levi get his crops in and the fields laid by. I’d rather plow all day then put ink to paper.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But that isn’t what you agreed to.”
Strolling over to her, he looked into her eyes, and held her shoulders. She stared right back with such passion—daring him to speak first. One of the things he loved about her was her stubbornness. He bent a bit, brought his lips within inches of hers, holding her eyes the whole while.
She covered his hands with hers and patted them like comforting a child. “Morgan, there’s no telling how many folks out there will read Double Trouble At The Lowell House about the twins, and want more. It isn’t as if you have to write the whole book. May will do her part; I’ll edit the whole thing. Henry and I will be helping with the research, too.”
“There’s no telling how long that skull has been there, Charity. You know it’s going to be next to impossible to ascertain who it belonged to, much less why there was an axe buried in it.”
“Pshaw. First place I’ll go is to the county courthouse and look at their deed records.”
“The victim may or may not have owned the place, dear.”
“True, but it’ll be a start. I’m fairly certain I’ll be able to locate family members of owners. Maybe they’ll have a few stories to tell.”
“Oh yes, Mis’ess Lowell. My father killed that man.” He raised his eyebrows. “We could postpone it. Go when I’m not so busy.”
“You’re always busy.” She got down another hat box. “And I’ll have you know, Mister Smarty Britches, that I will be on a first name basis with the family members. Besides, if we postpone it then we’ll never go.”
“Sure we will.”
Nose to nose, she smiled. “Just trust me, my handsome sweetheart. You’re going to be so glad you went once the book is written and the trip is all over. You know how much you’ll enjoy being home again. Being gone for a while makes being back all the sweeter.”
That was right. His first novel earned him a respectable advance, and who knew what royalties would come in each year? He didn’t expect anything like the hotel, or his ships or timber, but there was no telling what the twin’s story would net him over time.
“To answer your question, yes. That’s all I’m taking.”
“Do you have both of your Derringers?”
“Yes, ma’am. Have you got yours?”
“I do. Kiss me, then I’ve got to finish my packing. The stage leaves in less than an hour.”
He did as told but didn’t release her. “They’ll hold the horses. We are part owners.”
“Oh, you.” She grinned then shook her head. “It wouldn’t be right, making the paying customers wait.”
Charity loved her husband, loved him all the way round the stump, loved it that the money hadn’t changed him. A lesser man would have puffed up with pride, but Morgan knew from whence his help came and was the most Christ-like man she’d ever known. Her gratitude that God had made him to be her husband continually overflowed.
What an adventure he’d taken her on! She straightened his coat then backed up a step. “Shall we then? You know how I hate being late.”
The man looked as if he might try one more protest to get out of going, then must have thought better of it, and nodded. “Do the condemned get one last request?”
“Condemned? Oh please, Morgan.” She shook her head. “We’re going on a holiday. Stop acting as though I’m feeding you foul medicine or something.”
“Oh, that’s what you’re calling it. A holiday?” He extended his arm. “Come on, then. I told Enoch to meet us in the lobby.”
“Really? Why? I was just thinking how glad I was we’d already said our goodbyes. If Baxter and Maisie find out . . .”
“He’s the oldest, and I wanted to give him a few last instructions.”
“Well, please don’t be long, dear.”
“I won’t.”
Coming up, she’d never missed a meal or had to wear feed sack dresses, but there’d been plenty of times her parents denied themselves in favor of others. Walking through the Lowell House on her husband’s arm, she couldn’t help loving the trappings of money. She so appreciated the beauty all around her. One more thing to be grateful for.
God so blessed her in that she and Morgan never had to be concerned about filthy lucre. Money flowed like water into their hands.
Her firstborn waited near the doors. “I want you to be kind to your brother and sister while we’re gone.”
“Yes, sir. You didn’t have to tell me that; you know I will, Papa.”
“I don’t want to get any bad reports.”
Her son grinned. “You won’t. Now shouldn’t you be on your way to catch the stage?”
The boy got a whole other round of hugs and kisses, offering assurances all would be fine on the home front and encouraging them to have a good time, then her husband helped her into the hotel’s carriage. On the short ride to the depot, she blessed the Lord for Erralee who she could be confident would watch over and teach her children.
Not that Charity hadn’t been a hands-on mother and no lady of leisure. She’d overseen her boys’ education before finding the teacher and nanny, and still spent special time with Maisie and Rayne each day, schooling the girls by word and deed how to be proper young ladies with good manners and etiquette.
The little darlings still had a bit of sass at times though, a quality that the boys both loved and detested. Charity made sure Morgan’s spoiling stopped short of letting her daughter go rotten. The few switchings the girls had received had worked well, like the Good Book said—especially with her husband not succoring either or getting in her way.
The carriage rolled to a stop. Morgan waited for the dust to settle then opened the door, and offering her his hand, helped her down. When the driver put the third carpet bag in the stage’s boot, Morgan helped her aboard the stage.
“Anything else, Captain?”
“No, that’s all. I’ll wire when we leave Clarksville with our arrival time.”
“Yes, sir. Have a good trip.”
He climbed in and closed the door. The driver blew his bugle then slapped leather. Trace chains rattled, and the wheels kicked up a cloud of dust behind them. The other three passengers, two men and a lady seemed a bit miffed, but then Charity had gotten there with time to spare, so the woman had no cause. No need for any of them to act out of sorts.
No one held the stage on account of her.
Morgan introduced himself and Charity, and soon enough, the others were enthralled with him. Her husband had such an easy manner and a strength that both men and woman admired. Bless God, he held fast to his honor and never acted on the long looks or sly touches so many women offered. How many times had he told her he loved her and only her? Even after all the years together.
She put her hand on the back of her head, checking her hair, and pushed a pin farther in. It felt right.
Oh, what fun lay ahead! She still couldn’t believe she’d actually got him on the stage.
A little piece of him somewhere must have wanted to go, or he never would have given in.
May always proved a perfect host, and Charity had packed some of Quincy’s specialty breads to contribute.
Another mystery and another book!
What could be better?
The trip from Dallas to Clarksville took too long. Morgan didn’t mind the swaying, dust, or frequent stops. Being cooped up in the coach was what he hated, especially if too many folks boarded and not enough disembarked. Couldn’t blame the drivers or stage managers though. They, like him, wanted to make money.
Perhaps separate passage prices for those who rode on top of the coach would keep the undesirables outside. He’d float the idea by the General. Unless something had changed, Henry still held the majority ownership.
General Patrick Henry Buckmeyer. He did love spending time with the man.
So far, every venture he’d been invited to participate in had turned a profit—and a good one.
Finally, the two-story buildings on the town square of the Red River County’s seat of government came into view. Once the dust settled enough, he climbed down then helped Charity step to the ground.
A familiar figure strode toward him. Did any man walking God’s green earth have the swagger of Levi Baylor? No brag or bluster, but an evident cold certainty in the man’s manner enveloped him. He’d go to any length to help a friend or vanquish a foe.
Shame his sidekick had been so hardheaded and not let them have his leg. Wallace Rusk would still be alive if he’d just let them amputate. That war left many a man lamed, but not Wallace . . . too proud for his own good—and Rebecca’s, but at least she’d found love again with Marcus.
The famed Ranger neared. “How are you doing, Morgan? Uncle said you and Charity should be on today’s stage.”
“Blessed, especially now that we’ve arrived. I am not fond of travel by stagecoach.”
“Who is?” His wife beat to him their friend, hugged the man’s neck, then stepped aside for Morgan to shake his hand. “Is Rose with you?”
“No, ma’am. It’s wash day.”
The seven-mile wagon ride from Clarksville to the Buckmeyer-Baylor Ranch took less than two hours but catching up with Levi made the trip seem like only minutes. With the promise of returning for supper with his redheaded wife, Levi dropped him and Charity off at the big house.
The hotel had to be more than ten times the size of Henry and May’s home, but Morgan’s residence quarters there wasn’t half as big as the Buckmeyer mansion. Of course, he had all the guestrooms he’d ever need though.
After more catching up, what’d happened after the twin’s trial, he and Charity settled into their room then wasted no time in getting to work. He and his cohorts gathered in Henry’s office. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in it, but it had the same effect on him every time he walked into it. Manly and rich, it suited the general perfectly.
Henry at his desk, with May beside him in a straight-back chair that had been pulled over. Morgan and Charity filled the matching wingback chairs.
May started things off. “Henry has asked around, and we think the dead man might have been one of the Geiger brothers.”
“Oh, wow! You already have a name? That’ll be a great help.” Charity seemed giddy.
“Yes, ma’am.” Henry nodded. Morgan’s wife gave him an I-told-you-so expression in a glance.
“I’ve only spoken with Bridger Everman. He’s the man who had the headright before us. After I told him what we’d found, he figured it was one of the Geiger brothers. They’d give him five smoked hams and a big roll of summer sausage each year for running their hogs along his bottoms.”
“He hadn’t gone out to the cabin?”
“Didn’t know they’d built one out there. Figure we should talk to whichever Geigers we can find.”
Charity gave Morgan another of her looks. It seemed Henry had followed her plan as though in cahoots, but what other path to finding a little information could be followed? She acted like it was all her idea. He smiled at her, giving her a little nod of credit. Why not encourage her detective skills?
“Everman said they’d turn out a bunch of sows in the Sulphur River bottoms in the spring then round them all up in the fall right before butchering.” The man hiked both shoulders. “Don’t have a clue which brother—if it was even one of them—got the hatchet planted in the skull Levi and I found, or why he might have got his head split open.”
“Well, between love or money, I’m inclined to follow love as a motive. Wouldn’t you think so, Miss May?”
Morgan glanced at his wife, smiled, then leaned back. “So, where do we go from here? Have any idea where these Geigers lived?”
“Across the Sulphur, Bridger wasn’t sure exactly, but he suggested talking to Andrew Titus. He’s about fifteen miles on the other side of the river. Said he might know something since he had been running the trading post in Mount Pleasant since back in the early ’30s. He’s the man who opened the road from there to the port in Jefferson.”
“Well, that’s a place to start I suppose. You said he had been running the trading post. What’s he doing now?”
“Last I heard he sold out and retired to his farm in Chapel Hill, not far from the store.”
Charity touched his arm. He looked at her. “I told Morgan we could make up what we couldn’t figure out on the story. What do you two think?”
May stood and paced, tapping her chin. “Well, we could do that.” She stopped and faced Charity. “I suppose we’ll have to guess at some of it, but I also believe knowing as many facts as possible will make the book so much better.”
“Oh, I agree, and I’m ready to dig into researching.”
Morgan let a little chuckle escape. “Why don’t I head south come morning? See if I can find Mister Titus and what he may know of them. If we’re going to do this, I want to get it right.”
“I’ll come with you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Andrew.”
SKULLDUGGERY In The Sulphur River Bottoms debuts in July! Just a few more weeks away! Pre-order your copy now!
Dedication
My God is an awesome God and everything I do, I do to give Him glory! Thank You, Father for the Way, the Truth, and The Life! I love and trust You with all my heart and seek always to SHOW that to You through obedience!
My husband and best friend and co-everything is Ron, and every story is dedicated to him! Besides writing alongside me, he loves me unconditionally, continually putting me first! He brings me my first cup of coffee most every morning!
I also dedicate this book to the young women who keep to the old values of giving their babies the very best start at life by nursing them. Nothing man makes can be as good as what God provides. So many elect to go the formula route these days because nursing newborns can hurt (at first), be tiring, tie a mother down, and generally inconvenient.
I do understand that on rare occasions it just isn’t possible, but please let me encourage you to try your hardest and stick it out for your little one’s sake! Babies are God’s best blessings, and He never makes a mistake!
Acknowledgements
Blessed be the Master Storyteller and Creator of all mine, my Father, my King, and my God. Thank You, Lord for giving me these amazing stories and for sending Ron and I to the DFW Writers’ Workshop to learn the craft of writing creative fiction.
When I say giving ‘me,’ I mean giving Ron and me, because if it weren’t for my best friend and beloved husband, I don’t know if I’d ever write another book! After Yeshua, he is my all-in-all, my perfect writing partner! As we are one in God’s eyes, we are one in this wonderful life we share!.
